


Resuscitation, Sounding Heartbeats

by Steeella



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: A little bit of angst, Accidental Marriage, Always Read the Terms and Conditions Kids, Arranged Marriage, Being railed but tenderly, Brief warning for panic attacks, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Fluff, General Dumbassery on Both Parts, M/M, Mutual Pining, Normal chronological relationship but with less steps and a whole lot of pining in the middle, Rivals to Lovers, Shane ''Razzle Dazzle'' Madej, Smut, detective/criminal au, eat the rich, well... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steeella/pseuds/Steeella
Summary: "Very funny," he said shakily, looking nervously at the pair. Shane was now avoiding his gaze, not the usual emotion for someone who just pulled a wicked prank. "Yeah, that’s a good one. Now, we need to decide-""I’m not joking, Mr Bergara," Madame Alexandrina said. "Or should I say, Mr. Bergara-Madej."And oh, fate was nasty. Because now the name that had chased Ryan’s nightmares and taunted him wherever he went was the second half of his own.He really ought to have learned to read the terms and conditions.OR, Ryan knows only too well that being a Private Detective isn't as cool as it's all made out to be. His pursuit of a certain infamous criminal ends up solving more problems than it creates.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 44
Kudos: 76
Collections: Shyan Shipping Society - NYE Exchange





	Resuscitation, Sounding Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [berakangkang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/berakangkang/gifts).



> Hi guys! This fic is a part of the Shyan Shipping Society NYE fic exchange, in which I was blessed in having Tee whom I love very much and was therefore delighted to get to write for! My only apology is that I couldn't fit in any Krampus!Shane content for you.  
> This fic is a little bit of a wild ride, but I hope that through the magical powers of fanfiction suspension of belief you will enjoy it!  
> Thank you to everyone in the server for being awesome, special thanks to [AJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhalia) for putting up with my annoying questions and general incompetency.  
> Title from Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal (although I do in no way condone Michael Jackson), because... well. You'll see.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

Private Detective Ryan Bergara was told only too often that he was living the life that he had dreamt of.

It was such a strange but comforting thing, to be told by someone else that you were happy. That your job was perfect for you. Sometimes, being told that you were happy made you believe it yourself.

Ryan liked the thrill of the chase. He liked outsmarting the bad guys. He liked helping people.

But he also felt a little bit like he was running, a solitary race, where there was no clear goal, and he was very out of breath.

When he was younger he had not dreamt of a life where his happiness was something that couldn’t be shared. Sometimes he sat in his apartment, after coming home from a successfully solved case, and wished that there was someone waiting for him when he pushed open the door. But the name Ryan Bergara had become something of a household name in recent years, and along with his fame had come the general assumption that, well, private detectives couldn’t get  _ married _ , could they? There were a lot of murders involved, normally. A lot of crime. Not much time left for domesticity. 

That was the conclusion drawn, anyway.

And Ryan had been content to believe this, too. Even when he got lonely, he reasoned that at least his job wasn’t putting anyone at risk.

God, he had been so content to believe that.

***

The person that walked into the bank that day looked like any other person. 

They were dressed smartly, in blue jeans, a black shirt, and heeled boots. They would have been very tall without them. Their woollen gloves did not turn any heads, tucked into their pockets. It was winter, after all. 

To any outsider, they looked normal. Ordinary. 

Shane Madej was about to do one of the least ordinary things a person could do. 

He wore heels because that made his height more explainable. He had spent hours the night before perfecting his makeup: contour to make his face thinner, bags under his eyes and a pale sort of lipstick. His hair was a dark red curly wig, and his eyes were green contacts concealed by dark sunglasses. Unbeknownst to the people in the bank, his regular clothes were in a duffel lying in an alley a few blocks away. He had arrived by taxi, paid in cash, and walked for three miles. 

In other words, he was unrecognisable, untraceable. The trick, he always said, was in the misdirection. The "razzle dazzle."

He was smiling as he approached the teller waiting at the counter. According to her badge, her name was Megan. She beamed at him as he approached, but Shane's smile dropped, as he silently reached into his pocket and pulled out his first note, which he had written with his left hand with a red pen bought 90 days ago in a shop 12 miles away. 

_ Do not scream or push an alarm.  _

She looked up at him, panic setting across her face, and he put his finger to his lips. 

The second note read, 

_ I want 15k _ . 

He wiggled his disposal phone at her. She would think there was someone waiting outside. They could be armed. Civilians could be hurt. 

She got the money. 

Shane waited, drumming his gloved fingers on the counter, and watched five minutes tick by on the clock on the wall. 

The teller reappeared and handed him the money with shaking fingers. He checked briefly for dye packs or chips, but there was nothing. He nodded curtly, and handed her the third note. 

_ Do not tell anyone. Do not alert the police.  _

He put the notes in the bag, and as if nothing had happened, walked out of the bank. 

He buried the money in a 3ft hole several miles away, and changed his clothes. 

Swift. Efficient. Effortless. 

That was how the papers would come to describe him, when the headlines would be occupied with nothing but his name:  _ "Madej is the suspected perpetrator of over eight robberies and thefts this year _ ."

"If you're gonna make a name for yourself," he told his best friend Sara, six months later, as they dug up the money, "make it doing something  _ fun _ ." 

***

  
  


"You’ve made it to the news again."

The gentle sound of paper on wood took Ryan out of his daydream. He rubbed his eyes wearily and scooted his chair closer to his desk in order to get a better look. Indeed, there he was, half-obscured by shadow as he made his way out of the UN Security council in New York. He had found the bomb and alerted the main authorities before they had even noticed anything was wrong. And he had saved lives. He was reminded of this on the daily. That was why he did it all. Because at the end of the day, he wanted to be a hero. 

He turned and made a face to his brother Jake, who was in town visiting and had taken it upon himself to come and disrupt Ryan's focus. "I'd like it a lot less if they didn't plaster my face all over the front. What's the point of being a private detective if none of it is  _ private _ anymore?"

"Notoriety?" Jake reasoned, taking a seat and propping his feet up on Ryan's desk. "It means the calls keep coming in."

He was right. Ryan had had to hire a secretary because of the amounts of calls and messages he had been receiving in the recent months. He had made her sort them by most important, starting with "life or death situation," to "sounds exciting," and then, after them all at the very end, a begrudging "the Government will be on my ass if I don’t."

"It’s better than sitting here, eating cold ramen noodles and watching the paint peel off the walls," Ryan agreed. 

"Plus, I’ve heard people talking about you very highly," Jake said with a smirk. "A couple of girls came up to me the other day and asked if I was your brother, was I really, the brother or  _ famous Private Detective  _ Ryan Bergara, and then when I said yes, they wanted to know if you were  _ single _ ." he waggled his eyebrows up and down and put on a high-pitched voice. "They said they liked how  _ clever  _ you are, how  _ brave _ you are, how you have such big and strong arms-"

Ryan threw his pen at him. 

"Fuck off. I am a licensed professional.''

Jake rolled his eyes and ignored him. "Well?" he pressed on eagerly. " _ Is  _ there anyone?"

"I’ll have you know I consider myself married to my work," Ryan said loftily. He had read this phrase in an article about him a few weeks ago, and he rather liked it. It made him sound mature, not just lonely.

"Come on, there must be  _ someone. _ No hot widows who have been so overcome with happiness at the thought of you solving their husband’s deaths they forget about him and move onto you?"

"You are disgusting," Ryan said sharply. "I assure you. There is no one." he stood up from his desk to retrieve a post-it note that had fallen from the opposite wall. Jake picked up the newspaper that Ryan had left on the desk. Ryan preferred not to read the stories when he could, he didn’t like having to live through the investigations again, and often the reporters made errors in their articles that made him too irritated to continue. 

"They’re wanting to know if you’re any closer to catching Madej yet."

Ryan’s heart leapt.

And of course, there was that.

"No," he said, sighing. "If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, I could blow this whole popsicle stand."

Madej was the criminal that seemed to be who everyone was talking about right now. The media sensationalized them to an extreme, because no one knew who they were, their real name, even their gender - only that they had committed some of the most daring, high profile and yet  _ strangest  _ thefts this year. The clues left at the scene were completely bizarre, and left authorities absolutely baffled. A polaroid photo of an elephant, a star wars minifigure, and once, strangest of all, a single avocado pit, with no trace of DNA left on it.

Ryan had thought privately to himself that maybe the reason Madej hadn’t been caught yet was because of the total incompetence of the police department, and this was probably true. But Madej had eluded Ryan’s capture for long enough for Ryan to accept it wasn’t just down to the authorities. 

Many people seemed to think Madej was some kind of modern-day Robin Hood, mainly because all of the stolen money, jewellery and art mysteriously ended up in possession of charities, orphanages and small businesses going bust. 

Ryan, on the other hand, did not find the whole "eat the rich" vibe  _ quite  _ so endearing. It had made news that Ryan was being assigned to the Madej case, and ever since, there had been taunting notes left at every scene. Some were written on the walls, some in little notes, but all with the same kind of message, " _ Maybe next time, Bergara, ;)"  _ or  _ "You’ll have to be faster than that to catch me." _

It made Ryan clench his fists just to think about it. His new fame had been completely disrupted by Madej, no one seemed to want to congratulate him on the cases he had solved, only to ask why he hadn’t caught them yet. 

And yet, there was something about Madej that was  _ fascinating _ . Maybe, it was how nobody knew who they really were. Ryan liked to tell himself that it was that, that it was the idea of being the first one to catch them. If he didn’t stop himself, he would think that maybe it was because there was something exciting in their game of cat and mouse, something about how Madej had taken such an interest in Ryan.

"I bet she’s a chick," Jake said, dragging Ryan out of his head. "Bet she’s super hot." 

This, of course, did not help Ryan’s plight.

"They’re hot, whoever they are," he continued. "I saw someone on twitter talking about their gloves left at the scene, how  _ big  _ their hands would have to be-"

Ryan swallowed, and hoped desperately that the redness of his face could be explained by the lack of air conditioning in his office.

"The internet will obsess over any old patriarchy-dismantling petty criminal they see," he said, trying to roll his eyes. "Madej is a trend. One that I have to put a stop to."

There had been multiple people trying to stage copycat crimes in Madej's bizarre robbery style. But they were always caught. 

Not Madej.

Ryan wanted to know why, why they were so elusive, what made them  _ tick _ .

" _ I  _ think you're a little bit obsessed with them, if you ask me," Jake said, smirking. "Surely, there's more pressing, dangerous criminals out there?" He strolled over to Ryan's hectic wall of post-it notes and peeled one off. "I think somebody's got a little crush." 

"Hey-!" Ryan snatched the post-it off him again, blushing furiously. "I don't have a crush. And you are disrupting the wall."

"The wall you have for Madej, and  _ no other suspects or cases _ ?"

"I-'' Ryan knew he couldn't even defend himself. But Jake was wrong, of course. Who would ever have a crush on a  _ criminal _ ? A criminal whose identity no one even knew? 

It would be ridiculous.

"I sent you the link to a conspiracy website about Madej," Jake said, obviously forgetting about Ryan’s not-crush for a moment. 

"Awesome," Ryan grinned, eager for the change of subject. 

Jake watched him over his shoulder. "You’re not going to read the Terms and Conditions? There could be some loony running the site."

"Who has the time?" Ryan scoffed. "I  _ never  _ read the Terms and Conditions."

***

"You're in the papers again."

Shane looked up from his coffee to see the newspaper being pushed into his hands. His handwriting was emblazoned across the front page, the last message he had written at his most recent robbery. The jewelry had been sold already, and the money had immediately gone to the homeless shelter just outside Chicago. Lives would be made better, in the end, he always reasoned. That’s why Shane did it. He wanted to be the hero, even if it was in the most unconventional way.

"It appears I am." he smiled.

"You’ll have to be more careful next time," Sara said, half reproachful, half anxious. "It was a close one."

"It was not!" Shane protested, ignoring the part in the article that said that the authorities had arrived just as he had been leaving. "Besides. It’s the thrill of it all. Wouldn’t be fun if it was  _ too  _ easy."

Sara rolled her eyes fondly and curled herself up on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her. "I just don’t want you to get caught. Or hurt."

"I’m not going to get caught," Shane assured her, smiling smugly. "That Bergara? He’s no match for me." 

Ryan Bergara was the Private Detective who had been hired with the LAPD to help solve Shane’s crimes. Shane had felt smug knowing that the police force had had to get a private investigator to assist them, and then felt slightly less smug when he had read the guy’s history. But now, he was back to being smug again, after he remembered that his crimes seemed to be the only ones Ryan couldn’t crack.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," Sara said. "Did you hear that he solved the McKenzie homicides, after all these years? I was reading about it the other day, the case had been cold for two decades, then they hired him, and he swooped in and solved it."

"I think you’re forgetting when he tried to posit that the Mayweather disappearance was  _ alien abduction. _ "

" _ That was one time _ ."

Shane shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee. "The man is ridiculous. He’s clever, sure, but he’s ridiculous."

In press meetings, he seemed serious, stern. Slightly on edge. In interviews with magazines and newspapers he was pragmatic and concise. But Shane had done some serious snooping, and found an account on Instagram called, "Paddington_Beargara69" that was obviously the guy’s burner account, after Shane saw his dumb selfies and videos on there. That side of him was fun, and yes, ridiculous, but nonetheless enamouring, whatever he might say to Sara. He was sure that was the side that he really was.

" _ I  _ think you like him," Sara said quietly from behind her phone. 

"What?" Shane yelped. He had thought, on previous times before, that Sara might be capable of mind reading, and this only supported that theory.

"You never shut up about him. You pounce on any newspaper article about him. Look how quick you were to bring him up. And all those messages you leave him?" she raised her eyebrows. "Pigtail pulling."

“I’m not - it’s not-” Shane spluttered. “Now  _ you’re  _ being ridiculous."

Sara said nothing.

"Hey, now, you can't seriously be implying-”

“I’m not implying anything! You’re doing it all for yourself." Shane opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "For someone you hate so much, you sure do know a lot about him."

And there was nothing Shane could say to that. Because he did.

"I don’t know anything about him," he said defensively. "I’ve never even met him."

But it was like a celebrity crush, because, well, it  _ was  _ a celebrity crush. Shane didn’t need to  _ know  _ him, he just wanted to know  _ about  _ him. Get his attention, any way he could.

"You rob banks for a living," said Sara stiffly. "You are in no way permitted to say anything is beyond the realms of possibility."

  
  


***

  
  


Ryan came home the next week and slammed the door shut. 

"I fucking hate it!" he yelled to no one. "I hate it!" he marched into the kitchen and got himself a beer.

Madej had triggered the jewelry shop's alarms at 1:30am. Police had arrived at 1:45am, to find no trace of Madej, and half a million's worth of jewelry gone. Ryan had pulled up twenty minutes later, having been woken up from a fretful sleep, and they had shown him the only thing found at the scene - a little Paddington Bear teddy with the words "please find me a more difficult challenge next time," written on his name tag. Ryan had told the officers through gritted teeth that he would take it as evidence, but inside he had been thinking " _ how does the son of a both know I like Paddington? _ " It could have very well been a coincidence, but it made him feel like he was being watched. 

It had not all been in vain, though. They had traced the bear back to a shop in San Diego, which gave them the first real lead they had. 

"Madej is getting sloppy," Ryan had told the officers with satisfaction. "They're starting to care more about getting a rise out of me than actually getting away with it."

And that idea shouldn’t have been as exciting to him as it was.

He went to bed that night with his phone on the nightstand, hoping it would ring any moment with good news. As he drifted off, he couldn't help but think that, despite everything, how much he  _ hated  _ them, he would be a little disappointed when Madej was finally caught. 

It was fun, somehow, the thrill of the chase.

At half three in the morning, Ryan's phone rang. His eyes snapped open and he picked it up with trembling fingers. 

"Bergara?"

"Yes?"

"This is officer Anderson, in San Diego. Bad news, I'm afraid. We showed them the bear, and they said they've never seen anything like it, or anything Paddington related. I asked about Madej and she said she hadn't heard of 'em!"

Ryan clenched his teeth and tried his hardest to not slam the phone down. He took a calm, measured breath, and asked, "They couldn’t find anything?"

"No," Anderson admitted. "But I was walking down the street past the latest crime scene and there was a very nice woman who thought she'd seen someone fleeing the scene."

Ryan sat up straighter. "Oh yeah? What did she say?"

"She didn’t seem to have a straight answer, I’m afraid. Wasn’t much help, to tell you the truth. Kept going on about how she’d been given the wrong kind of bread? Hates paninis, apparently."

"Was there  _ anything  _ useful she said? Did you take her into the station?"

"We figured she wasn’t going to be much help, in the end," Anderson said, sheepishly. "But she was very charming. Gave me her number, told me to call her. But I did, and an exotic bird dealer picked up instead. She must’ve written the wrong number by accident."

Ryan contemplated reaching through the phone and strangling him. He was starting to realize that he had been woken up in the middle of the night to be met with another dead end. More often than not lately, he wondered why he did it all.

"What was the woman’s name?" he asked, in one last hopeful attempt.

"She didn’t say. But she was short, lots of curly dark hair, glasses-"

"Alright, thank you Anderson."

He put the phone down, and said into the quiet of his bedroom:

"Fuck you, Madej."

Ryan didn’t know, in his sleep-addled state, whether the problem was that there was injustice in the world, crimes unsolved, or whether the problem was that there was someone out there who was smarter than him, every time, and that they knew it.

For all his nobility and vigilante justice, he thought it was probably the latter.

  
  
  


***

Shane was pacing.

He did this sometimes, when there is nowhere to walk, he simply paced laps of his living room. Until Sara threw something at him, usually. 

For once, however, she was just as worried, sipping tea, cross-legged on the carpet. They had had to turn the heating off because the bills were getting too high, and it was now freezing.

"We might have to rethink things, Shane."

"We don’t have to rethink anything, Sara. I can be more careful. I got… carried away."

"It’s not just that, Shane. They want rent. We don’t have the money. It’s either in a duffel bag buried somewhere thirty miles away, or we’re given it all away."

"Ironic, isn’t it?" Shane asked bitterly. "We should be filthy rich."

"We’d be fine if it wasn’t for your huge-ass moral compass."

"I’m a criminal, Sara, there isn't much of a moral compass."

She smiled. "You know what I mean. You’ve given it all away. You could have been the richest motherfucker there is."

"It would be a bit detrimental," Shane said. "We’re so about ‘eat the rich,’ if I kept the money, I’d have to resort to cannibalism."

Sara laughed, despite herself. "The whole thing with the bear though, Shane, what was the point?"

"I found one of his burner accounts," Shane explained. "Seems to love Paddington, for some reason. Hates bears, though. I was thinking of trying to leave some bear fur at a scene somehow, just to  _ really  _ annoy him-"

Sara sighed, exasperatedly. "I just think - you - you would have so much more time if you stopped writing Bergara all these messages. You were  _ so close  _ to being caught last time, I had to distract the police officer at the scene, which put me at risk, and how do we even know the shopkeeper in San Diego is going to keep her mouth shut?"

"I appealed to the good in her heart."

She raised her eyebrows. 

"Fine. I paid her to be quiet. She was very nice." Shane collapsed onto the couch and yawned. "It’s fine, Sara, I’ll be fine. They weren’t even that close."

"That’s not the problem! The problem is that they traced the bear, Shane. Your little obsession with Bergara is going to be your downfall."

Shane played with a thread in his sweater. 

"You don’t  _ want  _ Bergara to catch you, do you?"

There was a beat. Too long.

" _ Do you _ ?"

Shane gulped. "No, no, of course I don’t! Why would I want him to catch me?"

"You tell me."

She got up and put her mug in the sink.

"Just ask yourself, who are you doing it all for?"

"Society?" Shane said, but it was more of a question than an answer.

"I think if that was really your sole purpose, you would try and be more efficient about it. Or you would… I don’t know. Join a volunteering group. I think it’s just about Ryan, now."

Shane did not want to admit that she had a very good point. 

"I don’t even know the guy," he said, an argument he had been using too much, in a last feeble attempt to deny it all.

"That doesn’t matter. Why don’t you give it a break, for a little bit, wait till the media circus dies down, and then try and actually speak to him, like a normal person?"

Shane tried to point out that the whole point of this was that he would never meet Ryan, that he was happy for it to stay that way, that the idea of what he was like in his head would be so different to how he actually was.

It was easier to dream.

"For such a high profile, daring criminal," Sara sighed, "you are surprisingly scared about this."

"It's  _ different _ !" Shane protested. "I’d rather go to jail than be humiliated."

"That’s not saying anything, Shane. If it was  _ Ryan  _ sending you to jail I think you’d go willingly."

"I hate you, you know that?"

"You love me."

"Yeah, I do."

***

  
  


Ryan got the call that changed his life while he was brushing his teeth. 

He picked it up as soon as it dialed for the first time, in case it was anything about the Madej case. He was getting desperate. Any tips, any sightings. He just wanted  _ something. Anything. _

"Hello?" he said.

"Is this Ryan Bergara?"

Ryan felt his heartbeat pick up. This could be it. This could be it.

"Yes?"

"I have some very important information to tell you."

His stomach turned to butterflies. This  _ was  _ it. It had to be. 

"About the Madej case?"

"It could be."

The voice on the other end was a woman’s, and it was light, almost mysterious-sounding.

"Can you - can you tell me?"

"I can’t tell you over the phone. I need you to come to me."

This wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance he had.

"Where do I meet you?" he asked eagerly. "What’s your name?

"You can call me Madame Alexandrina," she told him, and then gave him an address to a place not far from his apartment.

"I’ll be there in twenty minutes," he said, and got ready to hang up the phone. 

"Oh, and Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"I will expect something in return. And I’m not talking about money. A small favour to me."

Ryan did not think about it as he put down his phone, threw on his coat and headed out the door. He did not think about her final words as he hurried down the street, pulse racing. There was no need to think about it. He was going to catch Madej.

Madame Alexandrina’s was one of the weirdest shops Ryan had ever seen. It claimed to be a lot of things, a home of spiritualism, the place to buy antique items and collector’s pieces, and a chance to have your worldview turned upside down. Ryan was hoping very much for the latter as he stepped inside.

The walls were stacked floor to ceiling with shelves crammed with strange artifacts: relics and ornaments and toys and crystals and -  _ was that a human hand _ ? A sign on the counter offered palm readings, crystal ball readings, and more. 

With a jangle of jewelry, an eccentric looking woman with long blonde hair wrapped in a floral head scarf appeared from behind a large cabinet. She wore beads and necklaces of gold and feathers, and her wrists were covered in bangles and bracelets. 

"Mr Bergara!" she said, and her voice had the same warm but mysterious quality it had had over the phone. "Welcome. I hope you are well."

"Yeah, I’m great, thanks," Ryan said, scratching his nose. "I -I hope you are well too."

She beamed. "I am  _ wonderful _ . Today is a special day."

There was a pause, in which she did not elaborate. 

"You… were going to tell me something? Something important?"

"Oh, yes! Of course! Would you like to sit down?"

She pointed at a chair behind him, which Ryan swore hadn’t been there before. He sat down. 

"Now. To start, would you like a palm reading, absolutely free of charge?"

Ryan frowned. If it was  _ that _ important that he had to come and see her, why wasn’t she just getting on with it?

"Uh - I’ll have to pass on that, but thank you." he swallowed. "So do you have information? Do you know who Madej is?"

"I will grant you the knowledge that you desire," she said, "and in return, you will do me a favour."

Ryan felt his heart sink. Of course, she had mentioned it earlier. He would have paid any price for her to tell him, but a favour? Definitely more ominous.

"Don't look so worried," she said with a smile. "I'll tell you what it is first. I'll give you some time to consider. And it's not going to be a favour you will regret. In fact," her eyes twinkled. "It will probably solve a few other problems for you."

"Well, is the favour that you offer to fix my boiler?" Ryan said irritably. "Because that would solve all my problems."

"My proposition is," she said, leaning forward, "I tell you who Madej is… and you agree to marry my son."

Whatever Ryan had been expecting, it was not that.

"Oh." he said.

Something in his head, inexplicably in John Mulaney’s voice, said, "You know those days when you’re like,  _ this might as well happen _ ?"

***

Shane held the letter of eviction in his hands, reading it over, and over, as if he read it enough it wouldn’t be true.

Sara had begun to pack her things. She wasn’t talking to him. She had already phoned her parents and told them that she would need to be coming to live for them for a while. 

Shane had just sat and thought in silence.

"I’m sorry, Shane," Sara said eventually, after she had gathered her stuff in two suitcases and three rucksacks. "I’m sorry."

" _ I’m  _ sorry," he said hoarsely. "This is - this is all my fault."

"It’s gonna be okay, Shane," she said. "We’ll figure it out."

There was a knock on the door.

"Is that them?" Shane whispered. He got up to open the door, and when he opened it he almost wished it was the police.

It was his mother.

"Shane!" she cried, enveloping him in a hug. "Oh, I haven’t seen you in  _ ages _ !"

"Mom!" Shane said awkwardly. "What are you - what brings you here?"

"I was wondering if I could come in?" she asked, already stepping inside. She caught sight of Sara, and all of her stuff. "Oh, is this a bad time?"

"Sara’s going to stay with her parents for a little while," Shane explained in a tense voice.

"Finally got sick of my son, eh?" his mom joked. She looked concerned when neither of them smiled. "Wait, you haven’t really, have you?"

"We can no longer pay rent," Sara said finally. "We’re being evicted."

Shane’s mom looked aghast. "But - but," she spluttered, "You could have come to me!"

"Mom, you run a shop that sells crystal balls," Shane snapped. "You weren’t going to be much help."

"Well, there’s no need to be rude," she said. "And you, young man, are in big trouble. I’ve just read a very interesting article about a certain criminal called  _ Madej.  _ I’ve had to rebrand so that people don’t associate me with them!"

Sara and Shane exchanged a look.

"I’d best be off," Sara said hastily. "I’ll text you when I arrive safely."

She shut the door, leaving Shane alone with his mother, and possibly the only other person in the world who had just figured out his identity. 

"I can explain," he said, even though he knew he really couldn’t.

"You don’t need to," she said, smiling suddenly. "I was actually very impressed. And in this economy? I don’t blame you. I just wanted to pop round and say, I’ve been studying the stars, and I have the answer to all your problems."

You know. As moms tend to do.

"Oh yeah?" Shane said bitterly. "What did the stars say? ‘Get a job, Shane?’ You know that’s all bullshit, right?"

"You’ll eat your words in a minute," she said loftily. "Here’s my proposition."

And she told him.

"You’re bonkers." he said, after a sufficiently stunned silence. "I’ve never used that word before in my life, but - but now I’m using it. You’re literally bonkers."

"Think about it!" she said, completely unfazed. "You change your name, no one suspects you anymore. You move in with them, and then you have somewhere to live!"

Shane thought about it. Then he thought about it some more.

It took him probably quite an embarrassingly short amount of time to make up his mind. 

"Fine." he said begrudgingly, as if he had just agreed to run to the supermarket. "Fine, I’ll marry myself to a stranger."

"They’re not a stranger," his mom said with a wink. This was infuriating. "But you’ll have to wait and see.

The car ride there was excruciating. Shane’s stuff was packed into the back of her car, and Shane couldn’t help but feel a great sadness of seeing it all gone. His apartment, where he had planned some of his most daring heists, was no longer his.

"In here," she said, ushering him into a back room. "Quick, they’ll be here soon." she thrust a pen and a document into his hands. "Sign here." 

Shane signed the document.

She left, leaving him alone in the store cupboard.

Shane crossed his arms, and mulled it all over. How bad could it be? It was just marriage. For him, it was just a necessity. A name change. Not domestic bliss but hopefully domestic… satisfaction. He always knew he wouldn't get married, at least in the sense of "finding true love," or "your other half." It was too unrealistic to hope for.

It was always going to be convenience, not love. Shane had sort of got into his head that he was unlovable. He didn't like to admit it, not because it was painful, but because it sounded so horribly self pitying. Shane did not like self pity, he liked facts. His inevitable loneliness was an indisputable fact to him, so there was just no point getting all upset over it. 

Marriage to him, was not love, not beauty, just availability. He wouldn't complain, he would be content. He wouldn't be happy. But as long as he could watch his history documentaries and his old films and listen to his indie music and read his sad prose, he would be fine. He'd get by.

"Welcome!" he heard his mother say suddenly, from the front of the store. 

And when the person answered Shane felt his heart drop in his chest.

_ No. It couldn't be. No, no, no, no... _

"Thank you for inviting me," the voice said, and there was no denying it. 

It was the voice of Ryan Bergara.

Shane stood up very abruptly and figured his options. He would run. That was the only way. His mom would be angry but she wouldn't be able to stop him, not really, and Ryan didn't know who he was so he wouldn't recognize him. 

But as Shane got up and went to the door to open it, his heart sank even further.

She had locked it.

"Fuck." Shane muttered, turning away and pacing up and down the cramped room. This was it, then. His own mother was to be the downfall of his highly successful criminal career. How embarrassing. 

He pressed his ear to the door and listened further. Ryan sounded the same as he did in interviews, except he was talking slower, taking his time with his words. Shane always got the impression he was nervous whenever he talked on TV. The version of him that Shane knew was the version that had to present himself a certain way, and it was not the same version on the other side of the door. 

They talked, and Shane slumped down against the door and accepted his fate. How long would be able to keep the charade up? Not for very long, surely. Maybe if he asked nicely Ryan would let him go...

"Who am I kidding?" Shane said aloud to the dust and boxes of the room. "I've antagonized him so much he'll be too angry…"

He very nearly attempted to break down the door and make a run for it. But there was something that held him back. A subtle, tiny thought of,  _ Maybe let’s see how this pans out. Maybe it won’t be so bad. _

Suddenly he heard his mother's high heels clipping across the wooden floors and he stepped backwards as she opened the door. 

He walked through into the main room and stood face to face with Ryan. 

His first thought was,  _ Wow. He is breathtaking, _ and his second thought was,  _ maybe getting arrested wouldn't be so bad if it was him, _ and then he pulled himself together and extended out his hand to shake Ryan's. He noticed, as he shook it, that the detective’s hand was covered in little scars. He looked away, into Ryan’s face.

"I’m Shane," he said pleasantly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

***

Ryan figured he had three options.

Option one: he signed the legal document Madame Alexandrina was waving in his face and got married to a total stranger, BUT solved the mystery of the California bank and Jewelry thefts, and subsequently went down in history as a legend.

Option two: he didn’t marry himself to someone he’d never met, BUT he was less and less likely to find out Madej’s identity. 

Option three: he fled the country, changed his name, started a new life.

When he put it like that, when he examined his priorities like that, it could of course only be option one. That was all he wanted, wasn’t it? To find Madej. He never really cared about love, or marriage. Or rather, he never thought he would find it. So Madame Alexandrina was sort of right. It  _ would  _ solve more problems than one.

"Alright," he said, taking a pen out of his pocket. "Let’s do this. What’s the guy’s name?"

He squinted at the scribbled scrawl of a signature next to his. He couldn’t make out a name, just an S, and an M for a surname.

"Shane," she said. "Oh, he’s lovely, you’re perfect for each other. I was reading that you used to go to film school Mr Bergara, so did Shane!"

"Please, call me Ryan," Ryan said. "You’re my mother in law now, I guess. Oh, also, I presume I’m not changing my name?"

"Hyphenating," she said. "If that’s okay."

"Yeah, okay." his next question, of course, was going to be "what’s Shane’s second name?" but at that moment, Madame Alexandrina got up, and opened the back door.

The man that walked out was very tall, smiling nervously, and handsome in a scruffy, goofy sort of way. He also happened to be exactly Ryan’s type.

"I’m Shane," he said, shaking Ryan’s hand. Ryan smiled.

"So I’ve heard."

There was something warm and happy about him, the same kind of trust and comfort that exuded from Madame Alexandrina. The thing that had made him trust her in the first place.

"So…" Ryan said, smiling politely at Shane. "Madej. Who are they? Spill the tea."

Shane and Madame Alexandrina exchanged significant looks. 

"I’m going to tell you where he is," she said slowly.

_ He. So Madej was a guy. _

Ryan was trembling. "Okay… where is he?"

She pointed left. To where Shane was standing. "He’s standing right there."

There was a very long, uncomfortable silence.

Ryan stared at her, and when she did not laugh, he closed his eyes and prayed to a god that he didn’t believe in.

Another heavy silence.

"Surprise!" Shane said, doing the jazz hands awkwardly.

Ryan looked around wildly for some form of hidden camera, the  _ prank,  _ the  _ trick,  _ because there was no way that this could be real. 

"Very funny," he said shakily, looking nervously at the pair. Shane was now avoiding his gaze, not the usual emotion for someone who just pulled a wicked prank. "Yeah, that’s a good one. Now, we need to decide-"

"I’m not joking, Mr Bergara," Madame Alexandrina said. "Or should I say, Mr. Bergara- _ Madej. _ "

And oh, fate was nasty. Because now the name that had chased Ryan’s nightmares and taunted him wherever he went was the second half of his own.

He  _ really  _ ought to have learnt to read the terms and conditions.

"So you’re telling me," he said, looking at Shane, at  _ Madej _ , at his  _ new husband, _ "I just married myself to a  _ criminal _ ?"

"I think ‘criminal’ is a bit far," Shane interjected. "I committed crimes, but it was for the greater good. Could you really call me a criminal?"

"I can and will," Ryan spat. The room seemed to be spinning. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. "A jury won’t give two shits about why you did it. You’re going to be arrested, and you’re going to rot in jail."

Shane sighed, but he sounded more pitying than defeated.

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," he said, in an infuriatingly patronising tone, "first of all,  _ of course _ they’ll give two shits. That’s kind of the whole point. And second of all, you’re not a lawyer, you’re not a police officer, you’re just a regular person in the eyes of the law. And according to the Marital Communications Privilege, if I invoke it, there is no way you can testify against me."

Ryan smiled with gritted teeth, in the most polite way he could muster. " _ What? _ " 

He could feel his blood boiling.

"The law prevents either spouse from testifying about their private marital communications in a civil or criminal matter. You found out I was Madej during a valid marriage. You can’t testify against me."

Ryan’s false smile shattered. They stared at each other for a moment, Madame Alexandrina watched from the side.

"No hard feelings?"

And that was the final straw. 

Ryan threw himself forward, causing them to fall back into a bile of boxes. He landed on top of Shane, knocking all of the wind out of his chest. They rolled onto the floor, and Madame Alexandrina screamed as Ryan punched Shane, square in the jaw, sending his glasses skittering across the floorboards. 

"Ryan, stop!" Madame Alexandrina was shouting, above him, but it was distant, all Ryan could see was Shane’s stupid face, punching him again and again, thinking about how he had tricked him, a final time, and now the motherfucker wasn’t even doing anything to defend himself.

" _ Fight back!"  _ he shouted, punching him again, but a great deal less forceful. 

"I don’t want to hurt you," Shane managed to say, his hands coming to shield his face. 

"Why did you do this to me?" Ryan thundered, seizing Shane’s shirt collar and pulling his face to his. Shane tried to flinch away.

"I’m thorry," Shane lisped, spitting blood out of his mouth. "I’m thorry. But can you... can you thtop?" 

There was a fresh bruise on the side of his face, tears in his eyes. Ryan drew his fists away, sitting back on Shane’s legs, panting. 

"You tricked me," Ryan said, chest heaving. He looked up at Madame Alexandrina. "You too. You both tricked me. This is some sort of scam. I ought to sue."

"I should sue you for athault." Shane said, holding his hand over his mouth. "How about we thay we’re equal?"

"I feel like you tricking me into marrying a  _ thief _ and me hitting you a few times are different things."

"Thurely with any marriage there’s the pothibility you’re marrying a thief, we did you a favour by not leading you on beforehand-"

"Shut up, just,  _ shut up _ ." Ryan stood up, and wrung his hands. "I need to think, I need to process this."

"If it’s any consolation, I’m also not too chuffed. I promised mom I’d stop stealing things."

"My heart bleeds for you," Ryan said viciously. "When can I get a divorce?"

Madame Alexandrina spoke suddenly. "Let’s not be… hasty about things. Why don’t you… wait it out a bit? See how it goes?"

"It’s not - I’m not-" Ryan spluttered. "He’s a  _ criminal _ !"

"Well you’re not any better, you’re a ‘private detective-’ that’s not a real job." 

Ryan had to clench his fists to stop himself from hitting Shane again. The cut on his lip was still bleeding, and it gave him a little bit of satisfaction.

"What’s going to happen now is," Ryan said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "You’re going to go home, and I’m going to file for divorce tomorrow. Then I’m going to call the police. If they arrest you, they’ll have enough evidence that I won’t need to testify anyway." he gritted his teeth. "God, this is ridiculous."

"They won’t," Shane said, almost lazily. "Everything has been sold. All the money has gone to charities. There’s no way of proving it’s me."

"Other than your  _ name _ . Unless you’re forgetting that?"

"Detective, it’s getting late," Shane yawned, ignoring him. "Let’s just go home and sleep on this. Where do you live?"

"You’re even more of an idiot than I last thought if you really think I’m going to show you where I live."

Shane’s shoulders slumped. "You’re right," he said, dejected. "Do you mind… do you mind waiting outside for a second, Ryan?"

Ryan blinked, and then he nodded. "Uh… yeah, sure." he stepped back into the storage room where Shane had been, but pressed his ear to the door to listen in.

"Mom, I don’t have anywhere to stay." he heard Shane say. "This isn’t funny, this isn’t what you think it is, we’re not harbouring some undying love for each other, this is the first time we’ve met. I can’t believe -  _ fuck.  _ What have you done? I didn’t want- I didn’t  _ ask _ -"

"I’ve been crystal ball gazing a lot more recently, Shane," came Madame Alexandrina’s voice. "I’ve seen you two together. The compatibility is the highest I’ve seen in a long time-"

"-You know I know that’s complete  _ horseshit,  _ don’t you? This is real life. You just - I just -  _ I just got married to someone who wants me to rot in prison for the rest of my life _ ! For fuck’s sake, what am I supposed to do? He won’t understand, he’s too narrow minded to understand-"

Ryan felt himself give in. He pushed open the door. 

"You can stay at mine," he said quickly, causing Shane to look around in surprise. "I didn’t realize - you know. You can sleep on my sofa. Just don’t… steal anything. There’s some valuable stuff."

"I’m not a kleptomaniac," Shane said, the trace of a smile beginning to appear again. "I have  _ manners _ ."

Ryan rolled his eyes. This was the stupidest thing he had ever done. And there was an impressive list. But he was being a good samaritan, he was giving this guy somewhere to stay. It wouldn’t mean anything.

‘’Before we go, there’s no other big secrets you’re keeping from me? No reveals?’’

Madame Alexandrina raised her hand. Ryan stared at her.

‘’My name’s not Alexandrina,’’ she said. ‘’I put a spin on Shane’s middle name when I rebranded. It’s actually Sherry.’’

_ Great. _ Ryan thought.  _ This is all just great. _

***

Shane texted Sara to tell her where he was, and then he turned off his phone so he wouldn’t have to read the inevitable stream of texts from her that would follow, probably asking if he was crazy, if he wanted to get caught, and then after a moment, if Ryan’s generosity had extended to offering Shane a place in his bed next to him.

Ryan’s apartment was nice, but it was almost too tidy, too unlived in. The only room that looked remotely normal was his study, which was covered in piles of papers and documents. Post-it notes littered the walls, and Shane saw, with a sort of pride, that most of them were about him.

"Wow," he said, after Ryan showed him inside. "Wow, you were not close to catching me at _ all. _ "

"Fuck off," Ryan snorted. "I got you, I guess. You’re here. In my apartment. It’s like a dream."

Shane smirked. "A dream? What kind of a dream do you mean, Detective? Buy me dinner first, at least."

To his satisfaction, Ryan went red. 

"Who’s this?" he went on, picking up a framed photo of Ryan with his arms around a guy that bore a strong resemblance to him. "Your brother?"

"Yeah, that’s Jake," Ryan said fondly. "He’s training to be a dentist, like my Dad. They were both a bit confused when I told them I wanted to be a Private Detective. Wasn’t something you could go to University for, wasn’t a career they really understood."

Shane nodded. "At least it’s a career, I guess. And you get good money. Can’t say my parents were too happy to find out I’ve been evicted and working as a criminal. If ‘working’ is the right word." 

There was something that Shane noticed  _ wasn’t  _ there, though. No photos of a girlfriend, no boyfriend, nobody. Just the one of Ryan and Jake, and the hundreds of police reports and medical examiners’ reports and crime scene photos.

"Seems a bit… lonely," he remarked, and then instantly felt bad when he saw that Ryan flinched.

"Not much time for dating," he snapped, and took the photo frame out of Shane’s hand. "Do you want me to show you where you’ll be sleeping?"

"Yes, please." Shane noticed the change of subject.

Ryan’s sofa folded out into a bed, and with a few duvets and pillows it looked very comfortable.

Shane unbuttoned his shirt to sleep, feeling slightly exposed and self conscious. Ryan turned away, pretending to examine a speck of dust on the shelf. 

"Will you be comfortable like that?" Ryan asked awkwardly. 

"I will be very comfortable," Shane said. "You don’t happen to have any books, do you?"

"Books?" Ryan repeated. "Uh… I think I have a few in the study. I'm not a massive books person."

"Why not?" Shane asked incredulously. "Books are wonderful!"

"I know they are," Ryan said. ''I don't have the time, most of the time.''

"I’ll have to get you some," Shane said. "Maybe you could write one, an autobiography, about being a private detective?"

"I do prefer non fiction…" Ryan frowned. "I can’t just give away details of cases, though. But I will read any recommendations you give me. I read pretty fast.

"Oh, I take ages," Shane said, "I try to savour them, and I have a little narration voice in my as I read." he didn’t know why he was telling all of Ryan this, it was so inconsequential. He also didn’t know why Ryan was listening so intently. "I always forget things, though. I’m rereading books all the time."

"I tend to associate books more with learning," Ryan said thoughtfully. "But maybe that can be wider than just learning about things that exist."

"You know," Shane said after a moment. "You’re not like who I thought you were at all, Detective."

Ryan bristled. "What do you mean?"

"On TV, you’re firmer, harsher. In real life you’re soft. You’re funny. You have a killer smile, when it's genuine."

Ryan smiled then, one of his smiles, and then he realized and it dwindled, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. "Thank you," he said, and it sounded very genuine.

"No, thank  _ you _ ." Shane said. "I… I appreciate it, man. All of this. I don’t deserve it." 

Ryan looked slightly uncomfortable. "It’s… okay. You don’t deserve to sleep on the streets, either. It’s not going to be a permanent thing, either. Just until you find somewhere to stay."

Shane nodded, pulling the duvet over himself.

"Good night, Ryan Bergara."

Ryan smiled softly, and when to turn off the light, when he froze. 

"I’m not ‘narrow-minded,’ by the way," he said, turning round. "I’m very open-minded. About things that need an open mind. Just for the record."

"I know you are," Shane said, raising his eyebrows. "I remember the Mayweather disappearance."

Ryan flushed. "That was reasonable. And besides. I found them. It doesn’t count."

"It does  _ so.  _ What’s next? Mothman? Bigfoot? The Illuminati are controlling our every move?" Shane snorted. "Oh, I bet you believe in ghosts, or all that spiritual garbage my mom preaches."

"I don’t believe the Illuminati are controlling our every move," Ryan mumbled. "The rest, are perfectly valid."

Shane rolled his eyes. There was something sort of endearing about it, and it  _ was _ nice to know that Ryan wasn’t some ashen faced detective with a stick up his ass like he sometimes appeared in interviews.

"Now, sleep." Ryan said, turning the lights off and heading out of the room. "Get some rest."

Shane grinned to himself, and found that when he closed his eyes, the usual sense of dread that normally settled over him, at the thought of being caught, at just life in general, wasn’t there.

***

Despite what Ryan had said, the weeks went on, and Shane did not leave. They didn’t even bring it up. It was mainly because it felt rude to just kick him out, but it was also because there was no reason to. Shane was relatively tidy, he cleaned up and helped with chores and cooking dinner. He made good company. He kept to his word, and he did not steal anything. 

He made the apartment less lonely.

Shane got a job working at the store down the road, and he was happy. Sometimes Sara came to visit, and she and Ryan got on well instantly. Madame Alexandrina even made a few unprompted appearances, usually accompanied by a range of baked goods.

Weeks became months, and they got to know each other more and more. Ryan found that he liked what he found, when he chipped away the wall Shane appeared to have built up. 

The first month of living together, Ryan noticed how Shane tended to wake up at 8:00am exactly, no matter what day it was. He also noticed how he liked his coffee, he preferred showers in the evening rather than in the morning, and that he liked to go for runs just before. 

After two months he noticed how he liked having subtitles on whenever he watched anything, and how he always set the volume on the TV to an even number. He noticed what Shane had mentioned before, how he took ages to read books and then always reread them afterwards.

After three months, he noticed how whenever Shane got stressed, he would hum ‘ _ Hall of the Mountain King’ _ progressively faster and faster until the stress was over. He had also picked up on Shane’s different hand gestures, how he did a sort of air-punch when he was proved right in situations. He used his hands a lot while he spoke, and Ryan also found that he was not sorry for an excuse to look at Shane’s hands anyway.

After six months, which wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, Ryan felt like he had known him his whole life.

Ryan woke one morning, to the sound of scraping wood on floorboards, and hurried through to the kitchen to see that Shane appeared to have moved all of the furniture in his living room around. 

"Ryan!" he said, when he saw him enter the room. He was shiny with sweat from the exertion of lugging a couple of couches around. "I… rearranged things."

"I can see that." Ryan sat down on the sofa and eyed him suspiciously. The infuriating thing was, Shane happened to look very attractive like that, his hair slicked back, his sleeves rolled up. "Was there a reason?"

"Felt like spicing things up."

Ryan frowned. "Really?"

There was a moment in which Shane was obviously contemplating whether or not he should reveal his true intentions. But Ryan had got enough criminals to talk in the past. He could do it again.

"Fine," Shane said. "I was going through some of your newspaper cuttings and I dropped one of them down the back of that cabinet. I had to drag it over, and then I realized that your previous layout didn’t show off the space in the room, so I moved the sofas too." he shrugged, and handed Ryan a piece of paper. "I got the clipping."

Ryan smirked. "I was just kidding. I don’t care. It looks good, you obviously know what you’re doing more than me." he took the newspaper clipping. "Thank you for getting this, actually. I stopped collecting them when I started being in too many articles."

"Show off," Shane said, but he was grinning. "I did the same. I wish that people just used newspapers all the time. So much harder to get misinformation. Much more solid, having a proper newspaper in your hands."

"Okay, grandpa," Ryan joked. "But yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes old-timey is fun."

"Are you kidding me? ‘Old-timey’ is  _ always  _ fun. Unless it’s racism. Or sexism. Or homophobia. All the things." he sighed. "Otherwise it would have been so good to be a criminal in the 20s, or something. Or maybe it would have been too easy. No security, no nothing. I could just waltz in and then waltz out."

"It seems like you did that already," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "How did you do it? How did you get away?"

"I’m just a mastermind," Shane said airily. "What can I say." then he saw Ryan’s expression. "I mean, you just had to be fast. You had to do everything with confidence. I never did anything with confidence, but when I put on the disguise and it was a matter of not being caught, it was  _ everything. _ "

"You should have just been a drag queen."

Shane laughed, his nervous, half-uncertain laugh, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. Ryan liked that he could make him laugh, liked that someone understood his humour in all of its wit and sometimes downright absurdity. 

"I could have been a drag queen, actually. I’ve got the legs for it."

"Why did you start, though? Ryan asked, leaning forward. Shane sat down opposite him, on the freshly arranged couch.

"I think…" Shane scratched his chin. "I wanted to be clever. I wanted to prove to everyone that I could get away. I was never the  _ most  _ clever, never the  _ most  _ funny. I was clever, and funny, and people liked me, but I was never the  _ most  _ anything. So I thought, what can I do that could get me known?’’

"Why couldn't you just be the hero the  _ normal  _ way?"

"What even is normal, my dear Ryan?" Shane said, stretching his long limbs out. "We're all weird, we're all normal. I helped people. You helped people. We didn't help ourselves, and now we have each other."

Ryan found that he didn’t hate the way he phrases the last part.

‘’And of course, there were people who needed to be taken down a peg or two." Shane continued. He looked sheepish. "I thought you were one of them, at first."

Ryan didn’t like the idea that he appeared to be the sort of person who thought too highly of himself. But then again, he preferred that to the reality: that sometimes, only too often, he wished he was anyone but himself.

"At first?" he repeated. "What do you think now?"

"I think you seem like a great guy, Detective," Shane said, easily, leaning back with his arms tucked behind his head. "No pegs to be taken down. I was grossly mistaken."

"No, you’re right," Ryan said, surprising himself. "I did. I thought I could solve anything. I could, until you."

"I feel honoured."

They fell into silence again, as Ryan got up to go to his office. Shane picked up a book and curled up on the sofa, evidently trying to fit his legs on comfortably.

Ryan emerged again, three hours again, for lunch. He was thinking just a pizza that he could throw in the oven, maybe some salad to balance it out.

Over lunch, they talked about their favourite movies, and what they had studied at university. Shane was so easy to talk to, it was like talking to a long lost friend, or someone you had known for years and years.

It felt, Ryan found, like what he sort of imagined it to be like to be married to someone. 

The sort of thing he had always hoped for: to love and be loved in return.

***

That evening, Shane found Ryan in the living room, pouring over a case file. 

"That a new case?" he asked, sitting down on the rug next to him. 

"No, it’s a solved one," Ryan said, not looking around. "I just… I could have done it sooner. It was so obvious, in the end." he sighed. "I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes."

Shane didn’t think this sounded like Ryan. He knew he was prone to his doubts and his worries, but he never questioned himself that much. Not outwardly, at least.

"Hey, don’t say that," he said, "You’re fantastic, you know that."

"Do I?" He looked up at Shane, and he looked terrified. "Sometimes I get so caught up in what’s the ‘right’ thing to do, what's the ‘right’ thing to be. If I’m a good enough person. It worries me, all the time."

"I’ll tell you this for free," Shane said softly. "Bad people don’t tend to worry about that sort of thing."

"I started looking through all of those newspaper clippings after you brought them out," Ryan said heavily. "The reason I only kept some of them wasn’t because I couldn’t keep track. It was because as they went on… they got less than complimentary. Some of them called me pretentious, some of them called me an idiot. I got a ‘Sherlock Holmes - wannabe’ once. One wrote an article trying to out me after they found out about a boyfriend I had a few years ago. Luckily no one really knew who I was then, so it didn’t really matter. Must’ve been a shock to find all that out," he laughed. "Although, after labelling me a Sherlock-wannabe I can’t imagine they were too surprised to find out I wasn’t straight."

Shane chuckled. "Does that make me Watson?" he asked, and then instantly regretted it when he realized the implications. 

"I think you’re more my Moriarty," Ryan said, with a small smile. "Only less murder-y."

"Less murder-y, yeah…" Shane was not thinking straight. He could focus on nothing but Ryan, who was looking at him with the most serious, intent expression he’d ever seen.

"I’m sorry about those articles though, man," Shane said, and the moment was lost. "That’s… shit. I’m sorry." he thought about it for a second, then licked his lips and asked, "Do you think they’ll find out about us?"

Ryan’s eyes darted up in alarm. "What do you mean?" he said quickly, going pink. "What about us?"

Shane clutched his chest as if in pain. "Ryan! I’m offended! We’re  _ husbands, _ remember?"

"Oh." Ryan went an even deeper pink. "Of course."

It was only then that Shabe realized that this was the first time they had even properly brought it up.  _ Husbands.  _ It sounded like a slightly odd word to say plural, like saying "fishes," or "cactuses." 

Husbands. 

He didn’t know what was weirder, the idea of being married to someone, or the idea of someone being married to him.

"I think we should maybe keep it on the down-low." Ryan said, "If your case goes cold, and then like, a year later, I announce I got married and everyone is like ‘remember that criminal, Madej, same name as your husband,’ and then it’ll blow over and it’s okay. I’m sure that’s what your mom’s plan was."

"We’re doing this for more than a year?"

"I mean, it’s been ages already," Ryan said, looking disgruntled. "What would the point in stopping before then be?"

"I just meant… nevermind." Shane had meant that he had sort of momentarily forgotten that this was  _ his life,  _ he got to live with Ryan, be married to him, the exact sort of person he would choose to be married to, and of course, there would be complications but he was already the happiest he had ever been and that  _ wasn’t going away. _

Shane had a nasty habit of sometimes forgetting that he was a real person who deserved to be happy, too. 

It also made him angry that they couldn’t just get on with it,  _ be married _ , but they had barely talked about it, and the situation was so complicated, because there wasn’t supposed to be feelings, and now there was, and Shane didn’t know how that would change things. He wished it could just be a normal relationship, where they met and fell in love and got married, not they got married and then met and then had one fallen in love but not the other.

He could not, of course, say that to Ryan, any of it. Not so brazenly, without any joke to cushion the blow.

"I need to get to bed, I think," Ryan said suddenly, and he stood up. "Good night." The living room door swung shut behind him as he left Shane alone, surrounded by newspapers and case files.

***

Ryan swore under his breath as he shut the bathroom door behind him. How could he be so stupid? Again and again, he welcomed people into his heart, smiled as they wrote themselves over his historical events, because he thought that they would love him if he let them. Shane did not owe him anything, did not need to have feelings just because Ryan had them, he knew this. And yet, all this warmth, all this domesticity and intimacy had tricked him. Given him false hope.

To Shane, their whole relationship was nothing more than a ruse, a cunning plan. Ryan had known that. He hadn’t cared, and then he had suddenly cared so very much.

" _ We’re doing this, for more than a year?" _ Shane was itching to get out, to escape him.

Ryan didn’t blame him. He felt trapped. This was his dream life, right? He has wanted this for so long, the fame, the success, the ability to help people. 

So why did he feel like the very air he was breathing wasn't his?

He felt so suffocated, like he was in a little snowglobe of a life of exciting crime cases and women in high heels and champagne… and yet the  _ pressure  _ of it all, the knowledge that  _ he  _ was the one that had to save everyone, all the time. He couldn't even save himself. 

He was breathing, very rapidly, in and out. The man on his couch was a criminal,  _ Ryan  _ would be labeled a criminal if he didn't turn him in, but there was no way he could turn him in, not now. He was breathing very rapidly, but he didn’t seem to be getting any breath. He was in love with Shane. Oh God, he was  _ so  _ in love with him, and it was  _ ridiculous _ , and there was no way those feelings would ever be reciprocated, not when Ryan was so unloveable, so irritating, such a  _ failure _ -

There were tears running down his cheeks, but he barely acknowledged them.

_ If you make even a single mistake on any of your cases, there’ll be blood on your hands. You’re useless. Shane is right: you don’t have a proper job, you’re so lonely and it’s going to stay that way. He doesn’t love you. No one does. _

Ryan was vaguely aware that he was on the floor, and that his head was in his hands, and he was breathing, so fast.

_ I think this is a panic attack, _ he thought mildly, but it did nothing. He wished only to be able to sink into the floor, for everything to be calm, quieter. To catch his breath.

The room seemed to be crumbling around him

"Ryan?"

Shane was knocking on the door. Ryan did not move, but he shoved his knuckles into his mouth so stifle his sobs.

"Is everything okay? You haven't fallen in there?"

"I’m fine!" Ryan called back, trying to keep his voice steady, but it came out wobbly and precarious.

"Yeah, you sound it," came Shane’s sarcastic reply. "I’m coming in."

"No - don’t-" Ryan tried to scramble to his feet, wipe his eyes, steady his breathing. He achieved none.

Shane’s face when he opened the door went from shocked, to concerned, to calm. He bent down and took Ryan’s hands, saying softly, "hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Can you breathe for me? Can you breathe? In for two, out for four. In for two, out for four."

Ryan followed his guide, shakily. In for two, out for four. In for two, out for four. The room gradually stopped spinning.

"Can you name five things in the room?"

Lifting his head to look around, Ryan nodded. "There’s the sink, and - and the bathtub, and the toothbrushes, and the toilet…" his breathing was coming easier. "And your big old forehead."

Shane laughed, short and sharp. He wrapped his arms around Ryan’s waist and half lifted, half scooped him forward into a kneeling position. Ryan slumped against his chest, where he rested against his head. He focused on the rise and fall of Shane’s chest, who stroked his hair, and whispered, "it’s okay, it’s okay," like a matra.

The minutes ticked by, and Ryan found his breath again, in Shane’s arms.

Shane slept in his bed that night, and as Ryan fell asleep, wrapped in warmth, he could feel his heartbeat against his back.

***

Shane had not committed a robbery for more than half a year, but it seemed that the police were still looking for him. Ryan was still supposed to be looking for him, which made things… complicated.

Christmas came and went, and Shane bought Ryan a sweater and an old film box set he’d been asking for. Ryan nearly forgot about christmas completely.

On December 23rd, Shane had noticed that Ryan didn’t appear to have any Christmas decorations up. Not even a tree.

"Not a holiday sort of guy?" Shane had asked casually.

"You know I don’t stay here a lot," Ryan snapped. "I’m either in my study, or my room, or I’m just out. Didn’t feel like putting up decorations. I miss Christmas, though." he added, when Shane looked shunned. "I mean, I miss having time for it."

"You could just… take a break? You could not accept any cases, just have a bit of a rest for once."

"I can’t do that," Ryan looked almost panicked. "There are people out there who need me, Shane. I’ve got to keep working."

__ "Okay, whatever you say, man."

He had hoped that Ryan still wasn’t facing pressure to catch him, hoped that he wasn’t being part of the stress.

"They’re not giving you shit for it?" he asked at dinner one night. "I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble because of me."

"I’m fine," Ryan said, but Shane had lived with him long enough to know that this was the voice he used when he was pretending everything was okay, even when it wasn’t.

Shane was keeping an eye out for signs. He was wary of Ryan having another anxiety attack, especially now as he seemed so fragile. 

He had tried to go about as normal, helping out around the apartment as much as he could to ease the stress from Ryan. But he could see that Ryan was still returning late each night, still waking up after fretful sleeps with massive bags under his eyes. 

They didn't mention the night where they slept in the same bed - there was nothing to mention, nothing had  _ happened _ , exactly, and Ryan was still sensitive about the whole experience. Shane had felt it was still something, though. It was peaceful, it was cosy, and although it didn't mean anything it had still felt safe. 

"How's work?" He asked, stabbing his steak with his fork. 

"Stressful," Ryan answered, without looking at him. "I don’t… can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah, of course." 

Shane leaped onto a different subject, eagerly discussing annoying customers he had to deal with, including one lady ("total Karen,”) who wouldn’t take no for an answer when he told her they were out of pickled artichoke. The store had been busy lately, as one of the other workers was off on maternity leave, so Shane had to fill in. He didn’t mind, but he knew it gave him less time to spend with Ryan, and enough time to check he was doing alright. 

Sometimes, Shane thought about all of the money in the cash machines, how it was just there, practically  _ waiting  _ for him, how easy it would be for him to just take it and run when he was closing up the shop, run away, never look back. But the idea of leaving Ryan, the very thought of his face when he found out what Shane had done, always kept him grounded.

Ryan wasn’t laughing at his jokes, was barely saying anything all dinner. He finished his food and moved to put his plate in the dishwasher when Shane caught his arm.

"Hey," he said, tilting Ryan’s chin to look up at him. "You’re obviously not doing okay, dude. You need to sleep, you need a break. When was the last time you got eight hours sleep?"

Ryan shook his head, the usual look of distress on his face whenever Shane suggested he stopped working for a bit. "I just  _ can’t,  _ Shane. Please. I’ll be fine."

"You’re not fine, though-"

"-Well, have you thought about  _ why  _ that might be, huh, Shane?" Ryan suddenly snapped, yanking his arm away. "Have you thought that maybe it’s  _ your  _ fault that I’m stressed, you, and your little superiority complex that committed the crimes that I know  _ have  _ to solve?"

Shane felt his heart sink. So it was his case that was still needed solved. 

"Ryan, if you give me the word, I’ll go to the police. You never have to hear from me again. All that stuff I said about trials and marriage and testifying when we first met, we can work around it. I’m not having you getting exhausted because of me."

"You know what, I didn’t  _ ask  _ for you to be here, Shane, I didn’t  _ ask  _ to have to have months and months of sleepless nights trying to figure out who you were, only for you to then be so all up in my face,  _ all  _ the time, pretending to care about me." There were tears brimming in his eyes now, and his face was reddening. "And no, I can’t just send you to jail, because whether I asked for it or not, you are a part of my life now."

"You may not have asked for me," Shane said, clenching his fists, "But you asked for  _ someone.  _ You signed up for some sort of commitment. I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you,  _ detective. _ "

Ryan’s face screwed up in anger, and then promptly deflated like a balloon.

"Fuck you," he said, but there was no malice left in voice, just weariness. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Shane. You’re right, I need… I need sleep."

"I’ll lie next to you?" Shane offered, and it was partly because he wanted to be close to Ryan again, partly because he felt he had to check that Ryan really was going to sleep and not just staying and working into the night.

When they went to bed, Ryan was so tired that there was no room left for awkwardness. He flopped onto the mattress and then rolled over to allow Shane to crawl in next to him.

"Why are you doing all this?" Ryan mumbled into the pillow. "Why are you looking after me?"

_ Because I finally have someone to love, even if it’s unrequited. I don’t know what to do with it all. _

"I’m your husband, remember?" Shane joked, nudging Ryan in the side.

Ryan smiled, and Shane was sure he was already mostly asleep, his eyes were shut and his mouth was open slightly. But abruptly he said into the silence: 

"I love you, Shane." 

Then nothing more, just the faint sound of his heavy breathing. Shane felt his own words die in his throat, he was so taken aback, so caught unaware.

Shane tossed and turned in bed that night.

***

Ryan had not been entirely truthful. It sort of came with the job description, there was no way you could be a private detective without being secretive, in the same way you couldn’t be a criminal without being hidden and mysterious. Ryan was learning more and more that the two sides of the law had more in common than he had once thought. 

The LAPD Chief of Police was tall, grey haired and looming. His face was stony and wrinkled with everything he had seen over his career, and when he smiled it did not reach his eyes. 

Ryan had taken against him the moment they had met, when he took one look at Ryan and asked him where the Private Detective was. Ryan had had to explain, calmly and politely, that he was the man he had hired. 

"You’re running behind schedule," he said, when Ryan had stumbled into the office that morning. "There’s no surprise Madej is still out there, not when you’re such a mess."

Ryan plastered a fake smile across his face. "Sorry, Chief. I was working on another case."

"What case could  _ possibly  _ be more important than Madej, right now, Bergara?"

"It’s just a few… murdered children," Ryan muttered. "I was hired by their grandmother."

"Well, they’ll just have to wait," the Chief snapped. "Madej has made a mockery of us again, and again, catching them must be your top priority."

Ryan sat down in the chair opposite the Chief’s desk and scratched his nose. 

"Madej hasn’t actually committed any crimes since June."

"I don’t care."

"I’ve been working as hard as I can, I’ve not been sleeping-"

"But you still haven’t caught them."

This was an infuriatingly indisputable point. "No, I haven’t caught him."

The Chief’s eyebrows shot up. " _ Him _ ?" Do you know Madej is a man, Bergara?"

_ Shit.  _ "No, I don’t, no, it was just a theory I was testing out. I don’t know."

"Hmmm." the Chief still looked suspicious. 

"Are you sure I can’t work part time on this? I won’t be able to work as hard if I’m this tired all the time. And these murders, someone really ought to look into them-"

"I’ve told you time and time again, we hired you to catch Madej, and that’s what we’re paying you for."

"You’re not paying me, actually," Ryan tried to say. "Not that I care about the money at all, but, you know. It would help your argument if you were factually accurate."

"And when have you ever been factually accurate, Ryan?"

Ryan whipped around, expecting to see another officer, forgetting that no one in the LAPD addressed him by his first name.

Instead, standing behind him, leaning against the doorway, was Shane, a Starbucks cup in his hand.

"Who are you?" the Chief demanded, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sleeve, as if his eyes were deceiving him.

"I’m Ryan’s friend," Shane explained with a broad smile, because, of course, there was no way they could explain the situation without sounding very, very illegal. The Chief of Police was also not renowned for his advocacy for gay rights. He probably would have been more offended by that than the idea of Shane being the infamous criminal.

"Well, get out of my office," he said furiously, looking as though he would very much like to send Ryan out with him. "This is a private meeting. I’m surprised you even got in here."

"Well, it was nice meeting you sir," Shane said, his smile never dwindling. "Ryan, I’ll see you in a second."

He shut the door gently behind him, leaving Ryan with an even angrier Chief.

"Can you tell your  _ friend, _ " he said viciously, "That I do not appreciate being barged in on."

"Yeah, I’ll pass it on," Ryan gulped.

He did not, of course, as he scurried out of the Chief’s office ten minutes later. 

" _ Dude _ ," he said, when he found Shane lounging against one of the pillars in the entrance of the precinct. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you coffee," Shane said, thrusting the cup into Ryan’s hands.

"But - but  _ why _ ?"

"I missed you," Shane said happily, and then he clapped Ryan on the shoulder, causing him to spill coffee over his hands. "But get back to work. I’ll see you tonight."

Ryan watched him go, an awed expression on his face. 

Needless to say, the day felt a lot brighter after Shane had made an appearance. Ryan headed home after work feeling, for the first time in a while, like he didn’t want to punch somebody.

Shane had already laid the table for dinner when he arrived. 

"Homemade burritos!" he exclaimed when he saw Ryan, by means of greetings. "I’m not a great cook, but I made them from a packet, so they should be alright."

Ryan sat down at the table and tucked in. The conversation flowed easily that night, they were both in very good moods and soon found themselves wiping their eyes from laughter, as Shane recounted a particularly amusing anecdote about a bowl of soup, a meerkat and a ukulele.

Once again, Ryan found himself thinking that this, what he had with Shane, was exactly what he wanted to have for the rest of his life, was exactly what filled his ideas of true love, and soulmates.

As he was putting dishes away, he rounded on Shane. 

"Thank you," he said firmly.

"For what?"

"Everything." he did not feel like elaborating. That was enough. "They’re still on my ass about catching you," he confessed. "But I’m just saying now, I’m not going to turn you in, no matter what."

"The media has calmed down, mostly," Shane said anxiously. "I haven’t seen my name in any articles recently. "I hoped it would all just… go away eventually."

Ryan sighed. "Me too."

"I trust you, though. I think I trust you more than anything."

It was so simple, but so heartfelt, and Ryan couldn’t help but smile. To be trusted, he always thought, was to be loved with the blind part of someone’s heart. The reckless part, the honest part. 

He could live with that.

"I never had you down for a romantic, Madej," Ryan said, smirking. 

"I’m sure John Keats would bear to differ, my dear Ryan," Shane replied, nonplussed. "I think he would have found our plight positively sublime."

"You’re such a nerd," Ryan said, but affectionately. And then, to prove he wasn’t above such things himself, "They found the grotesque sublime, Shane, so I’m sure they would have loved you."

"I could have had a steamy romance with Byron," Shane said, almost wistfully. "That’s the dream."

"You know you’re a weirdo, don’t you? And anyone who says ‘steamy’ deserves to be jailed."

"Horny jail?"

Ryan bonked him playfully on the head with a wooden spoon. "Yeah, horny jail, you freak."

"Will you arrest me, detective?" Shane said, and Ryan couldn’t help but flush at the use of the word. "Arrest me and throw me in jail? That’s all you were trying to do, wasn’t it? Trying to catch me. And now you’ve got me, what are you going to do?"

"I…" Ryan felt himself turn red. "You are not helping your cause over here."

Shane smirked, as if he knew what he was doing. "What if I don’t care,  _ detective _ ?"

They joked around like this all the time, this was not unusual. But there was  _ intent  _ in Shane’s words this time. It made Ryan hungry.

"I’m going to have shower," Ryan said, trying to keep his voice jolly as he swatted Shane’s arm with a dishcloth. "You stay here in horny jail. I’m locking you up and throwing away the key."

Shane merely laughed. "Okay. I’ll be here."

In the shower, Ryan bowed his head and let the water wash over him. He purposefully did not think of Shane while he was there, not while he was naked, not when it would have been  _ so easy  _ to imagine Shane’s skin as his, Shane’s hand instead of his own, where there were bruises and scars from fistfights that had not fully healed.

"Good night, Shane!" he called, from the hallway. 

"Good night, Ry!"

He hoped Shane would not be disappointed to be made to sleep on the sofa bed again, but it wasn’t like they had a  _ routine  _ or anything, They tended to only share a bed when Ryan was having some form of mental breakdown.

He crawled into bed alone, feeling thoroughly infuriated. Shane had probably gone to sleep already, or was reading in bed, probably reading more Romantic poetry and dreaming up new ways to torture Ryan. 

Ryan’s mind couldn’t help but stray to Shane, to the genuineness of his laugh and the absurdity of his jokes, and then wandered further - he didn’t really know how he suddenly got there - to the veins in his hands and the look in his eyes when he was concentrating, and the way he said  _ detective  _ in that voice, low and gravelly. It made him wonder what other things he could say like that.

His fingers snaked under his sweatpants, and found he was half hard already, from nothing but the very  _ idea  _ of Shane. He slipped his hand into his boxers and took a hold of his dick, coaxing himself to full hardness. He began to jerk off, imagining Shane above him, his voice tantalising in his ear. There was no time for shame, not when he needed to come so very badly. He pieced together all the memories he had of Shane, trying to recreate a new version of him, where said things he’d never heard him say, things he  _ wished  _ he’d say. How he was so big, and his body would cover him completely, how hands would hold him so strong - 

" _ Fuck. _ " 

Ryan had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out as he came, hot over his hand. Panting, he lay there for a moment, swallowed by the darkness. It wasn’t until his orgasm had worn off did the guilt creep in. He was  _ disgusting _ . Shane was his friend, he was right there in the room next door.

_ He’s more than just a friend, though _ , came the conspiratorial voice in his ear.  _ That’s what got you into this mess. _

He began to drift off to sleep, and he was glad that Shane was not in the bed next to him, because he was pretty sure the shame of it all was exuding from him like an odour.

The Chief of Police, of course, did not have sympathy for unrequited love as a reason for punctuality. 

"We already made ourselves into a mockery by hiring you, Bergara," he thundered, as Ryan wandered in, half an hour late. He had not slept well. "Don’t act like you’re better than us by showing up whenever you feel like it."

"Sorry sir," he mumbled, too tired to argue.

There was no point in him being there. He was not allowed to work any other case than Shane’s, and even if he was pretending, there were no clues that would lead him anywhere. It had been so long.

Ryan knew that so many people thought his job was glamorous, exciting, his ideal job. That was because they only saw the glamorous, exciting, ideal parts. If people could see him now, milling away at his desk for hours, they would not come up to him in the streets and ask him if he had any advice on becoming a Private Detective.

"Be passionate about it," he always told them, somewhat lamely, because, at the start, he had been. So very passionate, the same way he was about anything he cared about.

But now, there was only one thing he could think of. Only one person.

_ Fuck this. _

He shut his laptop, with grim determination, and marched to the Chief’s office.

"Sir?" he said, knocking on the door.

"Bergara," the Chief said irritably. "What do you want?"

"I’m not working on the Madej case anymore." Ryan told him firmly. "It's a waste of time and resources. There’s literally no point."

"Bergara, I’ve told you a million times," the Chief said viciously. "We  _ need  _ you to catch them. They’ve made a mockery of this department. Our reputation will be ruined."

"Catch them yourself then," Ryan said, and when the Chief opened his mouth to argue, he continued. "There are more important things than reputations."

The Chief looked at him for a long moment, and then said, "You’re fired."

"You can’t  _ fire  _ me, sir, I don’t work for you."

"You don’t work for me but I think you’ll find I can still fire you."

"Not if I quit."

Ryan crossed his arms and stared determinedly.

"You’ll be disgraced." The Chief took his glasses off and examined Ryan, as if seeing him for the first time. "I’ll spread the word and no one will ever hire you again."

Ryan thought of Shane, how being around him felt like taking the first breath after being underwater, and found that he did not give two shits what this man had to say. 

"I don’t care. I quit."

And then he turned on his heel and walked out, feeling for the first time in his life that he had done the right thing, not to save 10 politicians, or an antique jewel collection, but for himself.

***

It came as a surprise when Ryan rang the doorbell of the apartment early. 

"Honey, I’m home!" he said, as Ryan opened the door. "Have you prepared my nice hot meal for me after my hard day at work?" he was grinning like a lunatic.

"Ryan are you okay?" Shane asked, genuinely a little concerned. 

"I’m  _ fantastic _ ," Ryan said, with relish.

"How was work?"

"I quit."

Shane’s jaw dropped. "What are you talking about?"

"I quit!" he was beaming. 

"But -  _ why _ ?" Shane was so confused. "You love your job!"

"Nothing compared to you," Ryan said, simply. "I’d choose you, every time, in a heartbeat." 

He looked so stupidly pleased with himself. So sure of himself, so sure that he was right in choosing Shane. Ryan, who second-guessed everything he did, examined the same information over and over as part of his job, was never sure of anything, was sure of  _ Shane. _

"Well, say something!" Ryan said, "I’ll have to get another job, which may take a while, but it’s so worth it, for you-"

Shane decided, against all better judgement, that he was not going to say anything. After all, if his criminal career had taught him anything it was that actions spoke louder than words.

He tilted Ryan’s chin up to look up at him, like he did all the time, his way of saying,  _ I want you to see me.  _ He leant down and kissed him, softly but firmly on the mouth, leaving no room for misinterpretation. It was a little awkward, as first kisses often were, the suddenness of it all, and their noses bumped slightly, but it was in no way terrible.

Ryan looked positively awestruck when they broke apart. 

"Oh," he said, but it was less of a word and more of a soft exhalation of breath. " _ Oh. _ "

"Are you…" Shane began to say, before Ryan was dragging him down to kiss him again. 

In all of Shane’s briefly entertained fantasies, Ryan was a good kisser. He was right. Maybe it was the adrenaline of it all, but his skin seemed to spark where Ryan touched, and Ryan was  _ everywhere _ , his hands sliding over his arms, his back, cupping his face.

Shane felt a little bit like he’d been electrified. Nothing, none of the thrill when escaping authorities, compared to  _ this _ .

"Do you want this?" he managed to gasp out between kisses. 

"No, I just thought kissing you would be a fun thing to do," Ryan said sarcastically, equally breathless. "Yes, you idiot. If I haven’t made myself clear enough, I am very much enjoying this."

Shane pushed him back against the wall of the hallway, his hands resting on Ryan’s hips as they kissed again, harder.

"Bedroom?" Shane asked, and in one word, he asked a lot of things.  _ Do you want to do this with me? Right here, right now?  _ He knew that Ryan must want to, at least in some form, but he didn’t know whether his feelings extended to beyond sex.

"Yeah."

Shane made to move into Ryan’s room, always doing first, thinking later, but Ryan caught his arm.

"We should probably… talk about this," he said, and under the dim light of the hallway, he looked both embarrassed and nervous. Yet, his eyes still flashed with determination, still saying,  _ Yes, I want this. _

"We should," Shane agreed. He took a step back away from Ryan, allowing him space to breathe, space to run away if he didn’t like what he said next. "I think I’m in love with you. So this is all…" he waved his hand, indicated them, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. Shane noticed, not for the first time, a cross-hatching of cuts across Ryan’s knuckles, "A new, but nevertheless welcome development."

"We’re already married, technically," Ryan said, shrugging. "And yes. I have examined the theories, I have done my research. And my conclusion is that I am also very much in love with you, so if you are happy to, I suggest we get in there and you put your hands around my neck, and then maybe other places."

Shane made a small, surprised laugh. "Don’t be so crude, Detective."

"You know it drives me mad when you call me that?" Ryan said, opening the door to the bedroom and leading them inside.

"Why do you think I do it?" Shane murmured, pulling Ryan towards him onto the bed. Ryan went a delicate shade of pink. It was so very fun, making him more and more flustered. "Now, the real question is, did the LAPD give you any handcuffs that we could repurpose for sexy reasons?"

Shane smirked as Ryan appeared to go through all five stages of grief in front of him, before he said, "No, I do not. And you are insufferable."

"You love it."

"You’re lucky you’re so charming. I really ought to kill you."

"And where would that lead you, detective?"

"With no one to get me as worked up as you do."

"Exactly."

Shane smiled, and ever so softly, he leaned forward to kiss Ryan again.

***

Their clothes ended up discarded on the floor, leaving a trail to the bed like stepping stones.

Ryan took in all of Shane in the half-light, found that there was now skin wherever he touched him. He didn’t think he’d ever been with anyone he loved so much, never been granted this liberty. To love and be loved.

Now that it was all there in the open however, both literally and figuratively, Shane didn’t seem to know what to do with himself.

"You want me to-?" he gestured down.

Ryan breathed out. "Yeah. I mean, yes please."

"I think we can work with that."

They found each other, in the darkness of the bedroom, mouths colliding and arms intertwining. Ryan fell back against the pillow, giggling. 

"You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to touch me like this," Ryan said, as Shane’s hands roamed over his body.

"If it’s as long as I have, I have a few rough ideas."

Shane kissed along Ryan’s neck, down to his stomach, his thighs. 

"What do you want?" he asked, and Ryan’s breath caught in his throat, still caught off guard every time Shane asked what  _ he  _ wanted, asked Ryan  _ his  _ opinion. 

"I don’t care," he said, "Just want you."

"Do you have any lube?" and wasn’t that a strange word,  _ lube _ ? One of those words that sounded like you’d said it too many times until it wasn’t real anymore. Ryan could feel his thoughts slipping away into delirium.

‘’Second drawer.’’he forced himself into coherency.

Shane returned moments later, bottle in hand. He uncapped the lid and drizzled it across his fingers. Ryan watched, his heart in his throat, feeling so exposed and vulnerable beneath him. Shane rested his hands on the inside of Ryan’s thighs, making him shiver.

‘’Hurry up,’’ he grunted, shifting his weight so he was lying flat on his back.

‘’In a rush, are we?’’ Shane said, in  _ that  _ voice of his, ‘’The more impatient you are, the slower I go.’’

Ryan let out a whine, and then instantly regretted it when he realized how needy it made him sound.

‘’Oh, you like that?’’ Shane murmured, ‘’You like it when I tease you? Do you want me to make you beg for it?’’ 

Ryan’s snarky remark died on his tongue, something about how he really technically wasn’t going to be doing much detecting in future. There was a time and place for technicalities, and this was not it.

Shane smirked, and sat back on his haunches. ‘’What would you do if I just left you here?’’ he asked silkily. ‘’If I walked away, leaving you untouched?’’

‘’Fuck you - ‘’ Ryan said breathlessly. ‘’Fuck, I need you-’’

‘’- Need me to do what,  _ Detective _ ?’’

Oh, he was going to have to kill him. ‘’Fuck me already.’’

Shane raised an eyebrow.

‘’Please?’’

‘’That’s the magic word.’’

Ryan gripped the headboard above him, as if in preparation, as Shane eased the tip of his middle finger inside of him, all the way up to the knuckle, making him gasp. 

‘’Everything good?’’

‘’ _ Yes _ .’’ how could he explain, that with Shane,  _ everything  _ felt good,  _ everything  _ felt right, felt like it should do?

Shane twisted his finger, and Ryan moaned, before immediately shoving his hand over his mouth so Shane wouldn’t hear. Somehow, even like this, Ryan still found room for embarrassment, shame.

‘’Let me hear you,’’ Shane said softly, taking Ryan’s hand away from his mouth. ‘’You look so good like this, for me.’’ he leaned in closer to press a kiss to Ryan’s nose. ‘’Can you do two?’’

Ryan nodded eagerly, and Shane chuckled. 

As Shane worked his long fingers in and out of him, Ryan thought he could probably come like that, untouched. He gripped the bedsheets with his other hand, whimpering and begging, the skin around the scars on his knuckles going white, because Shane was slowly, strategically, tearing him apart and he needed something to cling to.

‘’I’m going to need you to stop,’’ Ryan choked out, ‘’Before I come, like this.’’

He half expected Shane to sneer at him, and wouldn’t have blamed him. But Shane’s expression melted into something of shock and awe. 

‘’You’re so incredible,’’ he said, removing his fingers, slowly, as if he was worried he would break Ryan if he moved too fast. ‘’You know that?’’

Ryan huffed out an embarrassed noise. ‘’You’re not too bad yourself.’’ he grinned. ‘’But I don’t remember asking you to stop.’’

Shane sat back, covering his mouth as he laughed, his cheeks pushing his eyes into a squint. ‘’You are the most impatient little man I have ever met,’’ he wheezed, all sexy pretence abandoned. ‘’But if you insist.’’

He took Ryan’s hand off the headboard and kissed his knuckles, where there had once been bruises and scars, and now only love. He pulled Ryan down the bed towards him, and bent his legs to allow him better access. He stroked his cock a few times, before moving closer, kissing Ryan’s mouth while sliding inside of him, slowly and carefully. Ryan’s head tipped back, his mouth falling open with noises and pleas.

Shane didn’t move, for a long moment, only waiting, above him, watching him.

‘’I need you to fuck me, Shane, or I think I might combust.’’

‘’You have no idea what you do to me, Ryan,’’ Shane grunted, rolling his hips. There was a line of sweat forming along his temple. ‘’I’m gonna - take such good care of you.’’

Ryan groaned as Shane hitched his hips back, and then slid forward again.

‘’ _ Fuck, _ ’’ he said between clenched teeth, all constanants. Above him, Shane’s face was heavy with concentration - the best thing Ryan had ever seen.

Shane didn’t stop, his hips snapping forward into Ryan, making him arch his back off the bed. One of his hands came to rest on Ryan’s throat, gripping the sides. 

‘’So good -’’ Ryan heard himself say, bitten off, as Shane’s other hand snaked down to wrap loosely around his dick, which was leaking across his chest. ‘’ _ So fucking good. _ ’’

‘’Look at you,’’ Shane whispered hoarsely, wiping a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘’So beautiful.’’

And under his gaze, Ryan really did feel beautiful.

Shane’s thrusts became more erratic as he ground forward, moving his hands away from Ryan’s throat and dick to catch his hands, holding him tight. Ryan squeezed his hands, saying wordlessly,  _ I love you so much, I’m never going to let go. _

‘’I love you, so much,’’ Ryan told him, eyes screwed shut. He forced them open and stared into Shane’s big, dumb face. Shane groaned, and ducked his head to kiss along Ryan's collarbone. ‘’You are so, so loved.’’

This seemed to spark something in Shane’s chest: his eyes darkened with something indescribable, and he came, his whole body shuddering above Ryan. He stroked Ryan’s hair and kissed him softly, and pulled out slowly, his cum spilling out of him onto the bed sheets. 

Shane wrapped his hand around Ryan’s cock, and Ryan knew it would not take long. One, two, three, four strokes and Ryan comes all over Shane’s hand, his head tucked into the crook of Shane’s shoulder. It felt like a tidal wave, like a bolt of electricity, because Shane was every force of nature, and as they collapse against each other, sticky and panting, it was like something in Ryan’s soul sighed with satisfaction.

‘’Isn’t there a slang term for Private Detective,’’ Shane said eventually, when they’d recovered enough to find their voices, ‘’Private Dick? Because you, good sir, just got a Private Dicking.’’

Ryan stares at him in disbelief. ‘’I actually hate you,’’ he says, pulling the duvet over his head. ‘’I can’t believe I’m in love with an  _ idiot _ .’’

‘’I might ask myself the same question,’’ Shane said, lifting the covers off Ryan and swooping in for another kiss. ‘’You’re so perfect, Ry.’’

Ryan knew, then, that he did not regret anything, if it got him to where he is now, in Shane’s arms. 

"If this was a rom-com, this would be when I would say something about how my criminal career amounted to the best thing it could - how I stole your heart," Shane said, grinning. "But I would never sink that low."

"Jokes on you, you still said it. How embarrassing."

Ryan will reflect later, about how Shane was the best thing that ever happened to him, how he was like having the air back in his lungs. 

‘’What do we do now?’’ Ryan asked, because it’s a fair question, and there’s a lot of possible answers.

‘’I think we stay like this,’’ Shane told him, ‘’Be husbands. You, me. Do husband-y things Maybe we get a cat. Maybe we write that book together.’’ he takes Ryan’s hand. ‘’What do you say, detective? Together?’’

Together, they didn't need to save anyone, no need to be the hero. They could just be  _ them _ .

‘’I don’t think there’s anything I’d like more.’’  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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